When I get to hea’vn, gon’ to put on my robe
And shout all over God’s hea’vn.
Hea’vn. Hea’vn. Everybody’s talkin’ ’bout
hea’v n
Aine goin’ there.
Hea’vn. I’m going to shout all over God’s
hea’vn.
Wednesday, November 23, 1859
We woke this morning and the world looked like it’s done been covered in a thin white veil. The first hard frost. Slaughtering time.
Saturday, November 26, 1859
The men slaughtered hogs for days. The smell of fresh animal blood turns my stomeck, so I stayed clear of the slaughtering yard and stayed close to the kitchen where pots and pans clanked and banged. The noise helped drown out the sound of dying.
As I write, the smokehouse is filled to overflowing with hams and sausage, bacon and ribs — all slow-curing in smoke from smouldering wood chips.
Later
Aunt Tee say just when you think you know the devil, he changes his face. Now I know what she means. I’ve always thought Mas’ Henley was the worse man in the world. But then come Briley Waith. Rufus was always in charge of slaughtering, but Mas’ Henley hired Briley Waith to take charge this year. He’s common as dirt, tall and lean with sun-red skin. Keeps a tangle of white hair hid under a beat-up hat. The cat-o’-nine that hangs to Mr. Waith’s side tells me he’s a man who keeps it close, because he plans to use it.
Watching Waith makes me feel sick in my heart. There is something ’bout him that frightens me way down deep inside. We made soap today under his watchful eyes. He sees everything. To me he’s a dangerment — like a snake, sly.
Sunday, November 27, 1859
Thank goodness for good days — they take the sting out of the bad ones. Aunt Tee sent me down to the stables to get Hince. When we walked into the cabin it was filled with the smell of cinnamon and apples. For days, I’ve been slipping sugar, butter, flour, lard — careful not to get caught. Today I got the cinnamon stick — enough to make a small apple pie.
It’s first frost — Hince’s birthtime. “Just for you,” I say, giving him a shiny black button I had found and polished. He promised to keep it always and I knew he would.
“I don’t have nothing to give,” say Spicy. She stood toe to toe, eye to eye with him. Then she gave him a kiss, right on the mouth. “I’m glad you was born.”
He let out a whoop that could be heard clear down to the river. We all had to laugh.
At times like these we missed Uncle Heb. But while Spicy and I worked on the quilt, we told stories about him, and about Rufus and Aggie, and Wook. That made us more thankful that we were together. Apple pie has never tasted so good.
Monday, November 28, 1859
Just as we feared, Mas’ Henley liked Waith enough to keep him on. Pulled several men ’way from the tobacco drying sheds and put them on the job of building Mr. Waith’s overseer’s cabin. Mas’ Henley chose a spot that gave him clear view of the whole plantation. He can see the Quarters out his back door, and the back of the Big House from his front door. From the left side window Waith can see the kitchen and the fields behind, and from his right side window Waith can see the orchards and woods. Clear to me, Mas’ Henley has brought Waith here to be his eyes.
Tuesday, November 29, 1859
Miz Lilly sent for me today. She was lying in bed — say she had a fever.
“So you like your shoes?” she say, groaning softly. I offered to get her some water. She called to me to stand closer. Then she grabbed my hand.
“You like nice things, don’t you?” I say yes, then she come back with, “You can have lots of things, but you’ve got to tell me what I want.” She asked me question after question about Mr. Harms — so many my head went to swimming. But I was real careful not to let on to nothing. Wonder what’s got her sniffing around Mr. Harms like a ol’ hound dog. Missy must have brought her a bone. Now she wants me to bring her another one. I say, “If I hear or see something, Miz Lilly, I’ll come to you right now.” All the time I’m thinking, “I’d never tell you a thing — ’specially not on a abolitionist.”
Wednesday, November 30, 1859
All this time has passed and Mr. Harms still aine talked to me. But things have changed so much, I need to tell him Miz Lilly is trying to find something on him. But it’s like I aine even in the room. During lesson time, I rub William’s legs after they been soaked in hot, hot water. I’m still listening and learning all I can, but I wish Mr. Harms would talk to me.
Thursday, December 1, 1859
While serving the noon meal, I heard Miz Lilly tell Mas’ Henley that she had written to a friend of hers in Washington. The friend had wrote back saying, “Mr. Harms’s father and mother are well-bred southerners, but his uncles Josiah and Joshua Harms are hell-bent abolitionists.” She sucked in as though she had spoken a word purely evil. “Who is this Mr. Harms?” she say.
This I know, Mas’ and Miz Henley fights on just about everything in the world, ’cept’n slavery. On that notion they are together. They plenty mad about losing Rufus and his family. Mas’ Henley say he would speak to Mr. Harms ’bout his family.
I know Mr. Harms said he would speak to me, but that was weeks ago. He never has. I got to warn him, so I’m just gon’ have to speak to him first.
Friday, December 2, 1859
I took a big, big chance today. I waited outside William’s room before class. When Mr. Harms came down the hall, I whispered. “Be careful. They know ’bout your uncles being abolitionists. They think you might be one, too.” Mr. Harms never said a word to me — never even looked my way. I wonder did he hear me?
Later
Mr. Harms heard me all right. After supper, he told Mas’ Henley about his uncles being abolitionists. It was smart for him to bring it up, before he got asked about it. I was serving them coffee in the large parlor when I heard Mr. Harms say he was sick ’shamed of his relations and wanted to forget they was ever kin. That seemed to set well with Mas’ Henley. I found every reason to stay in that parlor listening. I poked up the fire as Mas’ Henley was saying, “I’m trusting you to be an honorable man while you’re an employee in my home.” Coming from Mas’ Henley it sounded like a warning. I never took my eyes off Miz Lilly. She didn’t say much. But the compression on her face told the whole story. She didn’t trust Mr. Harms not a stitch. He’s got an enemy in Miz Lilly — and I think he knows it.
Saturday, December 3, 1859
They finished Mr. Waith’s house today. Hince say he’s so glad Waith is not staying in the stables with him any more, because he snored so bad.
Waith’s got a two room log cabin — one room and a sleeping loft — complete with a front and back door, and four windows. Nothing special, but the way he’s carrying on, you’d think it was a Big House. Miz Lilly helped furnish his place with leftovers from the attic. Mas’ Henley gave him the key to the storehouse and made him welcome.
Aunt Tee say Waith is po’ white trash that aine never had it so good. That means he’s gon’ want to make sure he pleases Mas’ and Miz Henley, to keep what he’s got. I plan to stay clear of the man — he scares me.
Before going to bed, I looked out the window and saw smoke coming from Waith’s chimney. The overseer has settled in for a long winter’s stay at Belmont. A cold chill went up my back.
Sunday, December 4, 1859
The wind woke me up, whistling through the cracks in the cabin wall. Sounds like whisperings from the strange dream I was having. Trying, now, to write it down while I remember it. Even so it is hard to put the pieces together. I am running, running fast, but I don’t know where I’m going. I see Hince being taken away in chains — Aunt Tee is begging Mr. Harms to help him, but he won’t talk to her. He won’t talk to me. I see a sign that says the Philadelphia, and another that says the New York, and another that says the Boston. People with no faces are holding up signs that say “We are abolitionists.” I’m running to them, but I never get closer.
Sitting here in the cold darkness, I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to speak to Mr. Harms. I’ve just got to figure out how and where I can do it.
Monday, December 5, 1859
Mr. Harms and I see each other during lessons every day, but we never have time alone.
I have to say this for William, he’s trying really, really hard with his lessons. No whining when I rub his legs either. I know the water is hot, and the exercises are hard for him, but he never fails to try. And today for all of his hard work, William wiggled his big toe. It was a small thing, but it made me feel big inside — good — like I’d had a part in making it happen by rubbing his legs and feet every day. It was like doctoring. I know how Aunt Tee and Spicy must feel when they help bring a new life into the world.
Tuesday, December 6, 1859
Samella, a barn cat, had a litter of three kittens under the kitchen porch. Two died. I captured the last one, a jet black one, and took it to William. I’d never heard William say thank you for anything in his life, but he thanked me for the kitten. He named it Shadow.
Later
“That was a kind thing you did for William,” said Mr. Harms. He was standing in the doorway to the study. “Keep dusting.”
At last, we were having that talk. My head was spinning with thoughts. What to ask? What to say? “I’ve been waiting and waiting for this time.”
Our talk went like this:
“I had to make sure you could be trusted — and that you could trust me.”
“Are you a abolitionist?” I wanted to know that in the worst way.
He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Yes, I am. Who else knows about me?”
“Aunt Tee, Spicy, and me. But Miz Lilly’s looking at you real careful-like.”
“Thanks for the warning. She could be a problem.”
“Are you and the one-eyed man the Underground Railroad?”
“No. Not by ourselves,” he whispered. “We are conductors.” He told me it was neither underground nor a railroad. It’s a group of people who work together to help slaves get to freedom.
“You can read and write. I figured you learned by listening during lessons. Remarkable.”
“I done learned a lot from you.” Then I say, “You a southerner. Why you want to end slavery?”
He wasn’t able to answer, because somebody was coming. I had more questions to ask. Later. Now it’s time to take Miz Lilly her warm milk before bedtime. I got to be sure that I don’t give away nothing in my face.
Wednesday, December 7, 1859
Today, Dr. Lamb came to see William — said he was improving. That still gave Mr. Harms and me a moment to talk. He told me Belmont was the first station on the Underground Railroad in this area. It was a low point in the river, where it narrows and the current is less swift. Runaways meet their first conductor here in the Belmont woods and are taken to the next point.
Why couldn’t poor Rufus and his family make it?
Thursday, December 8, 1859
The days are short and cold. The fields have been laid by. Tobacco is yellowing over slow coals. Waith’s put everybody to work fixing up the place for Christmas — the Big Times. Another holiday. Endless chores.
Eva Mae is making fruit cakes today. I chopped nuts and berries ’til my fingers have got no feeling. Missy got on one of Clarissa’s old dresses — Miz Lilly probably promised her a hat, too, if she tells on me. Missy and me hardly talk any more except when we serving the food. She hangs under Miz Lilly like Shadow does William.
Friday, December 9, 1859
We spent the day in the barn, restuffing Miz Lilly’s mattress with fresh down we’ve been saving all year.
Hince has been coming to Aunt Tee’s cabin every night to sit with Spicy, so I can’t write until he leaves.
Since our talk in the study, Mr. Harms has been slipping me things to read. I hide them under my dress until I get here. I read the papers to Aunt Tee and Spicy. A lot of it we don’t understand, but a lot of my questions have answers now.
Abolitionists live everywhere, just like I thought. But, what makes me happyest is that some abolitionists are women and some are even people who done been slaves, just like me. Mr. Harms say that a used-to-be-slave named Frederick Douglass teached himself to read and write just like me. Now he’s a abolitionist and writes his own newspaper up in the New York called The North Star. I want to read that paper some day. Maybe I will. I know I will.
Saturday, December 10, 1859
Aunt Tee sent Spicy and me to pick the last of the beets from the house garden. They’re tender and sweet after the frost hits the ground. On the way back from the garden Waith jumped out and grabbed Spicy’s arm. “You’re right pretty for a black gal,” he say, spitting tobacco juice.
He hissed at me to git, but I wouldn’t go — not without Spicy. I held on to her hand. He snapped his whip in my direction. “Git like I tol’ you, or I’ll give you a whupping gal!”
“Mr. Harms wouldn’t like you bothering Spicy. He done picked her for hisself.” I surprised myself at how fast I could speak a lie. It was a good lie, because it was helping Spicy. She was frozen in fear, because she knew Waith didn’t have nothing good in mind. Waith b’lieved me. He let Spicy go, and we ran as fast as we could to Aunt Tee.
I’ll tell Mr. Harms what I said, and maybe he can protect Spicy until … until what? Dare I write it? Until we run away!
Sunday, December 11, 1859
I miss the good Sundays we had when Rufus was here. But Mr. Harms gave Spicy’s Bible back. He had been keeping it in his room where it would be safe. The one he showed Miz Lilly was one of his. Spicy was thankful to get it back — it being her mama’s and all. Now I read to Spicy and Aunt Tee when we get a chance.
Later
There was a big celebration at Belmont tonight. Had to work in the kitchen. Mr. Cleophus Tucker and the other men Mas’ Henley supported won. The house looked beautiful, everything shining and sparkling. We’d worked hard enough to make it look that way. The guests went on and on about how they hate abolitionists and northern meddlers. Made me smile inside, seeing Mr. Harms right in the middle of them — and they don’t even know he was a fox in the henhouse.
Mas’ Edmund Ruffin was part of the group tonight. He was the one who talked the longest and the loudest about the rights of slaveholders. He was always talking ’bout his freedom. “We are a free nation. We fought England for our freedom. We will fight again for our freedom if we must!”
Mas’ers talk a powerful lot when it comes to their freedom. But when it comes to freeing the slaves — they gets struck deaf and dumb.
Monday, December 12, 1859
It’s night. It was cold all morning, warmed up by late afternoon, and now it is cold again — a winter cold. Long hard day over. Miz Lilly fussed around in the kitchen most of the morning — setting up for the big Christmas dinner. She ended up slapping Eva Mae twice ’fore it was over.
Later, Miz Lilly gave every one in the Quarters a measure of cloth to make something for the coming Big Times. I gave my piece to Aunt Tee, because I got Mama’s dress to wear. Aunt Tee is stitching up something real special while Spicy and me work on our quilt. We almost got it finished.
The cabin floor is cold, so we keep our feet wrapped in rags. We sit by the fire, so our fronts are warm, but our backs are cold. There are so many cracks in the walls, the wind whistles. And it’s also getting harder and harder for Aunt Tee to piece a meal together, even though I’m slipping as much as I can out of the kitchen. Winter hard times is upon us. What keeps us going is waiting on the Big Times — our Week of Sundays. Uncle Heb always used to say, if we can last through February we can March on through.
Tuesday, December 13, 1859
Riders woke us at daybreak. Dogs barking. Torches glowing in the darkness. Aunt Tee, Spicy, and I went to the door to see who it was. Late-night riders always mean one thing — trouble.
The lead rider, Wilson, spoke first. He was quick to the point. “Two of my nigr
as have run away — a buck named Raf and a mulatto gal named Cora Belle. We beat it out of the gal’s mama that the two was helped by a white man, what’s missing an eye. If we catch him, he’s gon’ lose more’n a eye.” The men reined their horses. “We aim to hang him.”
“The dogs traced them here to your orchards. We’d like to go in, with your permission,” said Higgins.
Mas’ Henley raised a fist. “You have my permission. And if you’ll let me dress, I’ll go with you.”
“Me, too,” said Mr. Waith, bursting out of his cabin. “Chasing and catching runaways is what I been doing for the last three years.”
I knew he was something like that — a low-lifed slave-chaser.
Wednesday, December 14, 1859
Mas’ Henley come back from the hunt, telling us how they found the runaways. “We hung ’em,” he hissed angrily. “My offer still stands,” he said. “Freedom to the one who gives me any information about this one-eyed white man. Think about it — freedom.” So they hadn’t caught the one-eyed man.
I just scratched F-R-E-E-D-O-M in the ashes. I still don’t get no picture. Freedom is a hard word to understand.
Thursday, December 15, 1859
Waith been pushing everybody to get Belmont cleaned up for the Big Times. After what happened with the runaways we been moving real slow-like — got no joy in our souls.
A Picture of Freedom Page 9
